“Make sure you apply for that permit,” he reminded me as I got in my car.

“I will,” I lied.

I slammed my door and started the engine, blocking out any more conversation. I pulled away too fast, the wheels of my car spinning on the wet gravel. I tapped the brakes, slowing to a crawl as I made my way down the road.

Just before I rounded the last corner, I glanced in my rearview mirror. I swallowed hard, my lungs suddenly feeling as if a vise were squeezing them.

Harry was still standing there staring after me, as if he was memorizing my face.

Or maybe just my license plate.

CHAPTER 30

“WELCOME TO YOUR PILLHEAD TOUR,” Ben said the next day.

He turned his van onto the eastbound highway, into the rural stretches along the foothills. The old van clunked and rattled as he shifted gears. I was in the middle, Gabe in the passenger’s seat.

The rugged, white-tipped Cascades soared above us. Soft streaks of sunlight slanted low across the horizon; a simmering excitement bounced between my shoulders. Oxy abuse had initially exploded in these remote communities only a few years ago. While it had spread to cities like Seattle, Tacoma, and Spokane, we didn’t have to go far to see its effects.

I checked my phone, aware that coverage out here could be spotty. I’d lied to the clinic and said I was staying home with Josh, then lied to Moira and said I was going to work, and if I was honest, it worried me a little. The trouble with lies is they breed like mice. You start with one, then you suddenly have a dozen, then two dozen. You tell lies to cover those lies, and more lies to cover them. Before you know it, the infestation has taken over.

Ben turned off the highway and wound along the hidden dirt roads that traversed the terrain of cool blue lakes, rushing rivers, and gullies carved into the mountain foothills.

“A guy named Paul lives there.” Ben pointed at a rusty single-wide trailer across the river. “He used to work in the tech industry. His company was about to go public when the dot-com bubble burst. He lost everything. He started working with a roofing company and fell off the third story of a building. Broke his back. He’s in chronic pain but can’t afford health insurance.”

“That’s so sad,” I murmured.

One of the most important things you learn in medical school is “do no harm.” But what should doctors do when our patients need something we know could potentially be harmful? It was a quandary for doctors: chronic pain versus addiction. If we prescribed the medicine that could help, our patients could become dependent. In trying to solve one problem, we simply created another.